


In Which Scars Know Better Than People

by thewriterofperfectdisasters



Series: Various Prompts and Drabble Things [6]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boys In Love, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, clingy boyfriends that i annoyed myself by writing, considering extending this into a full length fic hmm, i just have a thing about these two and bite mark scars okay leave me alone, it's not anymore SORRY ANON, stripper!Ian, this started as a childhood au, underage drinking/smoking etc, well dancer!Ian but whatevs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 00:06:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1489384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewriterofperfectdisasters/pseuds/thewriterofperfectdisasters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey looked like he was going to rip the hand off. He knew that just below the elastic of those shorts, right where James had his hand, there was a scar in the shape of his teeth. A matching one on the other hip, too. Mickey had made those long ago, but he knew they would still be there.</p><p>In response to a prompt asking for an Ian and Mickey childhood AU. Well. It started off that way. (Yeah I got a bit carried away.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Scars Know Better Than People

_Ian is 8._

It’s summer and too hot to do anything, so he and his siblings have been kicked out of the house and told to go play in the park. His oldest sister, Fiona, is struggling to keep an already psychopathic Carl in his stroller. He’s only 2 and doesn’t understand why he can’t push all the other tiny kids face first into the sandpit. Ian’s little sister, Debbie, is 4 and sits beside Fiona, flipping through a book that is way too big and complicated for such a young person. Ian’s brother, Lip, is lying under a tree. He’s 10 and thinks that he’s too cool to be seen with the rest of his family.

Ian sits in the shade (under a different tree from Lip, who told him that he wouldn’t share trees with his little brother), poking at the dirt with a stick he found, hoping that some poor little bug might walk in front of him so he can smoosh it into the dirt. From the corner of his eye, he sees another person come to sit under his tree.

This boy has a stick, too, but he’s not using it to kill bugs. He slaps the twig behind the knees of kids he passes and when he sits down in the shade, he puts the twig between his lips like a cigarette. Ian turns to look at this kid. His skin is smudged with dirt and his clothes have little rips around the seams, like they’ve been worn many times before. The clothes hang off him a little, so Ian thinks that maybe he shares clothes with his brother, too. Just like him and Lip.

'Hi.' Ian says to the kid.

The kid looks around. ‘You talkin’ to me?’

'Yeah.' 

'Okay.' The kid goes back to ignoring him.

Ian frowns and tries again. He picks up a pebble from by his foot and throws it at the kid, who back turns around, frowning too. ‘My name’s Ian.’

'Good for you.' 

'What's your name?'

The kid’s lip twitches and he says nothing for a few seconds before finally saying, ‘Mickey.’

Ian grins, triumphant. ‘Nice to meet you, Mickey.’

 

* * *

 

 _Ian is 10_.

Since the day he threw the pebble at Mickey, they’ve been friends. Well, Ian would like to think they were friends. They sat together every day under the tree in the park, poking each other with sticks. They’ve been inseparable ever since.

Ian and Mickey meet up at the park, every day after school, every day during the summer, and pretty much every day in between. From there, they would either just sit and talk, or go back to each other’s house to play video games or watch movies.

The long days of summer are Ian’s favourites because they mean that he gets to spend almost the entire day with Mickey.

 

* * *

 

_Ian is 12._

He thinks Mickey has changed somehow, but he can’t place it. His clothes are the same. Well. Not the exact same. But the same in the way that they’ve been passed down through so many brothers that they’re practically threadbare. Mickey doesn’t seem to mind, though, so Ian says nothing. Mickey’s hair is the same. It’s still a shock of black hair, messy as fuck, still with the leaves in it that Ian put there last week when Mickey had his back turned.

Maybe it’s because Mickey is cleaner? Or maybe not. Ian doesn’t care how clean or unclean Mickey is, because he still hangs out with Ian, and doesn’t make fun of him when his voice starts cracking. (Okay, maybe he does. But Ian thinks it’s kinda funny too, so he doesn’t mind.)

 

* * *

 

_Ian is 14._

Mickey has just gotten his knuckles tattooed with “FUCK U-UP” and Ian thinks it’s awesome. Mickey said he didn’t know why he got them. Just because. He seems a little less self conscious about them once Ian grabs his hands and says, ‘Fuck, that is so cool.’

Ian and Mickey sit under the tree that summer, passing bottles of beer, cigarettes, and occasionally joints back and forth. One night, Ian and Mickey stay out until the stars have appeared overheard. They lie under their tree, looking up at the sky and listening to crickets.

Ian has been meaning to tell Mickey something, and if he had ever thought of a good time to say it, he thinks it might be now. ‘Hey, Mick?’

'What?' Mickey asks, taking the joint from Ian. 

It might be Ian’s imagination, or maybe it’s the drugs, but Mickey’s hand brushes his own lightly and Ian can feel fire dancing across his skin. ‘What would you say if I told you I think I might be gay?’

Mickey was silent for a long time. Ian looked over to him, worried he might be passed out, but he can see stars reflecting off Mickey’s eyes, so he knows he heard him. 

Mickey passes back the joint and says quietly, ‘I wouldn’t give a shit.’

Ian smiles and turns back to the sky. ‘Really?’

'Yeah, man. You're still the same person, right?' Mickey sighs. 'Still my best friend.'

Ian nods, though he knows Mickey can’t see. ‘Yeah. Still your best friend.’ He passes the joint back to Mickey and huffs out a cloud of smoke.

Mickey mentally curses himself. This is the best opportunity he’s going to get to say something, but he doesn’t know if he has the balls to do it. He knows that baring his soul like this could get him killed, but if Ian’s done it, and he’s younger than Mickey, then surely,  _surely_ , Mickey can do it too.

'Hey, Ian?'

'Yeah?'

Mickey rolls onto his stomach next to Ian and whispers, making sure that Ian is the only person who hears, ‘I think I might be too.’

 

* * *

 

_Ian is 15._

It’s midnight and he’s creeping out of the house to meet up with Mickey at the park. This thing… whatever it was, it was driving them both crazy. Ian and Mickey couldn’t get enough of each other.

Ian knows that if this ends badly, he’s lost his best friend. Mickey knows this too, but neither of them give a single flying fuck.

 

* * *

 

_Ian is 17._

Just like everyone knew it would, things between him and Mickey ended. Badly. Ian doesn’t know if he can stay anywhere that Mickey is, so he packs a bag, takes all his savings, and leaves.

He doesn’t tell anyone where he’s going, but leaves a note on the Gallaghers’ kitchen bench to let everyone know that he’s okay and will keep in touch.

He doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

_Ian is 19._

He hasn’t been home in two years. He hasn’t seen his family. He only calls them once every few months to let them know he’s still alive.

Ian lives in New York, has a nice boyfriend named James, and they’ve been together for about 6 months. James is good to Ian. He keeps the fridge stocked with Ian’s favourite foods and shitty beer of preference, he buys Ian things when he needs them, and he pays for almost all the bills.

And Ian is suffocating. 

He is glad when it comes time to leave for his shifts at the club, and can’t help but feel annoyed when James decides to come along for the night. When Ian says, ‘Seriously, you don’t have to. At all. You don’t.’ James doesn’t get the hint to give Ian space. He says, ‘No, no. It’s fine. No bother.’ and goes along anyway.

For the first time since he left Chicago, Ian finds himself thinking of Mickey. Now, that -  _that_  - was something he missed. The excitement he felt being with Mickey. The heat that traveled under his skin and into his veins making him feel like he could spontaneously combust. The way Mickey would say his name right before he came all over them both. And all of it lost. All because Mickey could not stand up and say, ‘I’m gay and I love Ian.’ It didn’t even need to be to other people. Just to him. And Mickey couldn’t do it. Ian couldn’t be in the same places everyday that he and Mickey had made theirs. So he came to New York.

Now, he had settled for someone he didn’t want and it was killing him. He couldn’t leave because he would have nowhere to go, and fuck it all to Hell if he would leave James then slink back to Chicago.

No, Ian was tough as shit and he would get over himself. Learn to love James, and forget Mickey ever existed.

But it’s hard to forget someone who has so thoroughly integrated themselves into you. 

 

* * *

 

Ian is still 19 when everything changes.

He’s dancing on his stage at the club, James is - as fucking usual - sitting at the bar watching Ian dance and chatting with the bartender. Ian turns his back to James and shakes his head in disgust. Why the fuck was he still here? Fucking oblivious  _idiot_.

Ian rolls his hips and a few of the guys standing near him tuck bills into his shorts, licking their lips and winking at him. Ian grins and winks back before tilting his head back and looking into the lights hanging off the balcony above. What he sees has him stopping abruptly and just standing on his podium. The guys around him make noises of disappointment, but Ian just stares.

 _No_ _. No fucking way._

Someone taps Ian on the leg and he looks down to see James with a worried expression. ‘You okay? You just randomly stopped. Something happen? Need me to get a bouncer for anyone?’

Ian looks back up, but he’s gone. ‘No,’ he says, turning back to James. ‘It’s fine.’ Ian slowly starts dancing to the music again and James goes back to his perch, satisfied everything is okay.

Ian fucks James that night, with the image of Mickey Milkovich staring at him from the balcony on his mind.

 

* * *

 

The next night at the club, Ian knows he wasn’t dreaming. And that’s because as he’s climbing down from his stage to take a break, he’s approached by a familiar mop of black hair.

They stare at each other for a moment before Ian asks, all business, ‘Can I help you with anything?’

Mickey looks him up and down, drinking in the sight of Ian in his golden booty shorts. ‘You look good, Ian.’ 

Mickey’s voice sends a pang of pain through Ian, and it’s like being back in Chicago, sitting under their tree. He sets his jaw and crosses his arms over his chest. ‘What do you want.’

Mickey shrugs. ‘No fucking idea. Doing a friend a favour.’

'Oh yeah?' Ian asks. 'What's that?'

'Checking his brother is still alive.'

'Lip sent you?'

'Yeah.'

'That's the only reason you're here?' Ian tried to ignore the disappointment he felt creeping up on him.

'Everything alright here?'  _Oh._ Ian thought. That wasn’t disappointment creeping up on him, it was James. They gave him the same kind of feelings, so it was difficult to tell what was what sometimes.

'Fine, now fuck off. We're having a private conversation.' Mickey snapped before turning to Ian. 'Who the fuck's he?' 

'James.' Ian replied. 'My boyfriend.'

Mickey raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh really? Your taste has changed, Gallagher.’

'Yeah, I like to think it's sophisticated.'

James smiled a little at that. ‘Aw, thanks, babe.’ he put his hand around Ian’s waist.

Mickey looked like he was going to rip the hand off. He knew that just below the elastic of those shorts, right where James had his hand, there was a scar in the shape of his teeth. A matching one on the other hip, too. Mickey had made those long ago, but he knew they would still be there.

'James, go away for a sec.' Ian said, pushing the hand off.

Mickey felt triumphant as he saw James turn and walk away. ‘Boyfriend, huh?’

'Yeah, fuck off. Why are you really here?' Ian asked again. 

'Lip.'

'I know you wouldn't come unless there was something in it for you.'

'What makes you think I came here just for you?' Mickey scoffed. 'I live in New York, asshole.'

Ian frowned. ‘Why are you here, then?’

Mickey shrugged. ‘Little birdie told me you were working in a gay club. It hasn’t exactly been a fucking picnic tryin’ to find your ass.’

Ian narrowed his eyes. ‘Mandy told you I was here?’

'Maybe. Maybe not.' 

'You still haven't answered my question, Mickey. Why are you here?' Ian was getting tired of playing this game.

Mickey bit his bottom lip and threw his hands in the air. ‘What-the-fuck-ever. I fucking miss you, Firecrotch. It’s been 2 fucking years, I haven’t had a decent fuck since you left, and it’s taken me this fucking long to admit you were fucking right. Okay?’

Now it was Ian’s turn to raise his eyebrows. ‘Right about what?’

'You gonna make me say it?'

Ian tilted his head. ‘Yeah, I fucking am.’

‘ _Fine._ ' Mickey sighed in exasperation. 'I'm gay and I still love you, and I know you still love me because there is not a single fucking way in Hell that the pansy sitting at the bar staring at us is making you happy.'

Ian nodded. ‘Fair enough. My shift ends at 2. Meet me outside the door.’

Mickey rolled his eyes, but said, ‘Whatever, Firecrotch.’ nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

'Who is he?' James asks, looking at Mickey cautiously.

'Old friend.' Ian replied. 'I'll be home in a couple hours, tops. Don't wait up.'

'Okay.' James made a show of pecking Ian on the lips before walking away.

Ian smiled until he was sure that James was gone before walking over to where Mickey was waiting. ‘Fucking idiot.’ Ian muttered. 

'Why you still with him then?'

'Pretty much no choice. New York is fucking expensive.'

Mickey nodded in agreement. ‘You can always ditch that fucker and come stay at mine. Not even in a fuck buddy way. Just because it makes me depressed watching him try so hard.’

'Try having it first hand.' Ian scowled before realising what Mickey had said. 'Wait, did you say not even as fuck buddies?'

'Yeah, man.' Mickey shrugged. 'If you want.'

Ian grinned. ‘Sure.’

'Wanna move in tonight?'

Ian thanked every single deity he could think of for dumping Mickey Milkovich back into his life. ‘Please.’

Mickey led Ian to his car and drove them to the apartment block. Ian let them in, knowing James wouldn’t be back yet, and got Mickey to help him go through the rooms and pack his stuff. It ended up only being two bags and two boxes.

Ian didn’t leave a note. He didn’t care.

 

* * *

 

Ian knew that Mickey wouldn’t stick to his claim of “not even fuck buddies”, and was proved right when he dumped Ian’s stuff he was carrying on the floor of his shitty apartment and launched himself, mouth first, at Ian.

It was like nothing had changed between them. Their kisses were messy and brutal, and Ian fucked Mickey like the world was ending. Which, in a way, it was. The end of a moping world, where Mickey was Ian’s leading cause of anger, and the beginning of a new world where they were free to be together without fear of retribution.

After they had finished and were lying in Mickey’s bed (thankfully he had upgraded from the tiny one they had shared so many times at the Milkovich house), Mickey crawled down Ian’s body to his hips and in the half light saw that he had been right. The scars were still there. Ian was still his.

 

* * *

 

The next night, after Ian hadn’t come home, James rushed to the club.

He went up to the bar and slammed his hands on the polished wood to get the bartender’s attention. ‘Is Ian here?’ he asked, somewhat frantically.

'Yeah, why?' the bartender asked, pointing to where Ian was dancing on his usual stage.

'He didn't come home last night and all his things were gone.' James sighed with relief, hoping that maybe Ian had just moved his things into storage, for some reason or another.

James started walking towards where Ian was, but paused about 10 feet away. 

Ian had come off his stage and walked over to where the black haired guy from yesterday stood.

James watched as they had a short conversation, followed up by an attempt by Ian to kiss the shorter man. James was confused. What was Ian doing?

10 feet away, Mickey was talking to Ian. ‘Your boyfriend is watching us.’

'He's not my boyfriend anymore.' Ian said with a smile.

'Does he know that?' Mickey asked, eyes flicking to the worried blonde.

'He will in a second.' Ian said, going in for a kiss.

Mickey jerked out of reach. ‘Dude, what the fuck are you doing?’

'Showing him he's not my boyfriend anymore.' Ian quirked his eyebrow. 'You are.'

'Boyfriend, huh?' Mickey grinned.

'Yeah, boy-' The rest of Ian's sentence was swallowed by Mickey, who reached up and ran his fingers through Ian's hair before pulling him down into the kiss.

10 feet away, James watched the tenderness with which his boyfriend kissed the other man. He could see there was something burning underneath the surface, and sensed that maybe, this was tame for them. Ian had told James that he ran away from Chicago because of a boy who wouldn’t acknowledge him. James knew that this must be the guy.

And well, even he wasn’t that much of an idiot as to ignore such a blatantly obvious hint as that. Looked like James was single again.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

_Original post can be found[here](http://im-not-his-keeper.tumblr.com/post/83195921002/childhood-mickey-ian-au)._


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